Kinder
by wirenoose
Summary: They've got a collective demon and the only reason they can't be happy is because it's not dead yet.


This might be a little hard to follow and if you haven't read Another Note you might not know who B and A are. For those of you who do know, good on ya'. Personally, I like A as a girl, I dunno, but sometimes A is a guy, just depends on the story, I think I've got a nonbinary A story somewhere, oh well. If you've got any questions about this mess please ask.

Oh also, 'Kinder' for this purpose is pronounced with a short 'i', like in 'kinder'garten, hint hint

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note**

* * *

There is a house. It's not very big, but it's not all that cramped either. It sits at the end of a winding path through dying gardens and gnarled trees. Headstones can be seen in the far distance. There are three bedrooms, and seven occupants.

In the center of the first room, there is a small pile of toys. There are handmade finger puppets and dice, game cartridges and building blocks, cracked magnifying glasses and jacks. There are action figures and a plastic mask. A cracked water gun sits beside a pair of broken goggles. There are even books. They are perfectly stacked in a haphazard pile. On the far wall, there is a desk covered in playing cards. There are six different decks, all cards of the same number and suit are lined up in neat little rows. Light filters through red curtains, casting a wash of blood on the white carpet.

There are two children that stay here. They sit in the closet, backs aligned with the walls so they can see each other. One of them is a girl, the other is a boy. The girl's hair is long, it reaches her hips because it's never been cut and seems to grow quite fast. There are rope burns on her neck but she always smiles kindly at the boy. He has red eyes and a thin body, fingers that loop around his wrists and rib bones like a xylophone. The two sit in the closet and they hardly move, sometimes they'll shift their feet so they're touching.

They sit in the closet and they do not move, though they have been known to have laughing fits for hours on end.

Beside them, live two boys. One has a head of fire and eyes like the densest forest. His roommate has eyes like glaciers and hair that seems to glow like sunshine. The boy with fire for hair sits in the corner, a cigarette in his mouth. The cigarette doesn't burn out, no matter how much dragon smoke he breathes out. The blond spins slowly in an office chair most of the time. Half of his face is burned but the look in his eyes could pierce the hull of a battle ship. Throughout the day, they will inch closer and closer and when the sun goes down they are on the throw rug. They lay back to back, each with a gun in hand.

The living room has a couch, two beanbags, and two floor cushions. The couch is white with a multitude of colorful stains. On it, lies a boy, he is the oldest of all the children. He doesn't sleep, the shadows beneath his eyes are just that, inky black shadows that grow darker by the day. His face is pale like death and his midnight hair barely brushes his shoulders. The boy lies on the couch and he does not make a sound. Silver bracelets adorn his wrists and he doesn't bother to take them off.

There is a man who sits with him, doesn't leave his side. The man is old and wears glasses that magnify his warm grey eyes. He reads stories to the boy, Grimm Fairytales and old case files. The boy's head rests in his lap and when his eyes aren't closed, they are staring at the man's face, like they are trying to remember something.

In the third room of the house, in a somewhat sequestered hallway, there is a small boy. He is the youngest, though technically older than the two in the first room, but still, the youngest. He silently cries as he moves a toy car back and forth. The boy has hair the color of snow and wears clothes to match. Socks cover his feet and he sits in a protective crouch. All day long, he pushes the car around. Sometimes, it changes. Sometimes it's a police car, other times it's a black jaguar, or a motorcycle, or a red Camaro.

The first to arrive at the house were the two children hiding in the closet in the room full of toys. Following them were the boy on the couch and the old man, then the two boys with the guns. The boy with the toy car came last, some time later, and when he did arrive, he was crying.

The house is usually quiet. Though sometimes, the red eyed boy and the girl with the rope burns will laugh. Gunshots will be heard from the room with the two boys, and the young man downstairs sometimes shrieks and falls off the couch, the boy upstairs will suddenly let out a heart wrenching wail.

But it is nothing compared to the ruckus when a new person enters the house.

The new arrival has brown hair and brown eyes. He is plain but beautiful in the way a razor is. His clothes are stained in blood that is quickly fading and his eyes are dead. He stands in the doorway and looks around, mouth twisted in a grimace of pain.

The boy on the couch has his eyes shut and the man has fallen asleep. It is the rail thin boy who notices the shift first. His tired body walks him to the living room where the newcomer is. The girl follows close behind him.

"You," he says softly, taking a step forward, "You're the reason- I never saw your face."

The girl takes his hand, warning him not to lunge. Something like familiarity ignites in the newcomer's eyes and his hand gravitates to his bloodied tie.

Before anything else can transpire, the inseparable boys enter the scene. The cigarette falls from the red head's lips and the blond raises his gun.

Four shots, in quick succession, are fired off. Right in the chest, closely grouped at his heart, but there are no bullets, only open holes that will not bleed. The brunette looks down at the wounds in his chest, eyes wide.

The red eyed boy begins to laugh, falling to the ground, holding his stomach. The blond is preparing to attack. He shouts instead, screaming profanity and a language not understood by anyone with him.

The laughter wakes up the boy on the couch and he stands up slowly, back arching at a dangerous curve. His eyes lock onto those that are in the doorway. They dart to the tie and the newly made holes. His hand reaches for the old man and he crawls into his lap, hiding his face.

It seems the gunshots reached the white haired boy. He appears around the corner, a robot clutched in hand. He stands beside the blond and the red head, his usually blank face contorted in rage.

"Y-You can't be here," he forces out, "You can't be here, it's been too long, you have no business being here. This isn't your place."

"But it is," the newcomer says, stepping past the doorway, "Most of you are here, because of me, and I'm here because of you. I definitely have business here."

It is silent now, there is no more shouting or laughing, they all hold breaths that do not need holding.

"I beat you," the boy says, "I beat you, you lost, that was the end. We both read the rules, you know this is not how it is supposed to be now."

"I know that, I am guiltless, but you, the weight of it all, you feel it, don't you? You may have won in life, but I'm still here, I'm winning _again_."

"No, you're not."

In the space of a heartbeat, he grabs the gun from the blond and fires a shot directly into the head of their unwanted visitor.

* * *

There is a house, it sits on a hill, surrounded by an impressive wrought iron gate. Flourishing gardens wrap around property and the door is unlocked. It is massive, there is plenty of living space. However, there are only seven occupants and their rooms are clustered together.

In one room, there are two children. A wears a turtle neck to hide her rope burns but her pale brown eyes shine like the sun. her hair used to be long but she had it cut, it swings in a short pony tail at the top of her head. B's body burns are covered by long sleeved sweaters. He and A have a stereo that sits on the desk, it plays upbeat songs and they dance together. At the end of the day, they're asleep, smiling softly and wrapped up in each other, peaceful for a change.

Their closet is locked, inside are photos and broken toys.

The room beside them houses two boys. They like to sit together, on the bed, on the floor, near the window. Mello lets Matt kiss the scars that decorate his face and Matt lets him steal away his cigarettes for kisses of his own. They spend their days playing Mario Kart, Legend of Zelda and Metroid Prime. Matt always beats Mello but the blond doesn't mind because Matt is alive and not full of lead and bleeding against the side of his prized Camaro.

There is a locked drawer in the desk, it holds two guns, one with six bullets, and the other with only one.

L sits with Wammy in the cushy armchair in his office. L can sleep now, his shadows are fading and his chest doesn't hurt anymore. He chews on his thumb as Wammy reads about Rapunzel. L points out things that make no sense. Why would you name your daughter after lettuce? Wammy only smiles and continues to read, even when L leans forward and his hair gets in the way. He's already memorized the stories anyways.

Quillish has hidden the handcuffs, they no longer bruise L's bony wrists and the godawful clacking sounds have disappeared.

In the smallest room, Near is surrounded by his utopia. Cards and dice and matchsticks make up his city. Optimus Prime and his Autobots are facing off against the Decepticons. His finger puppets line the very tops of the buildings, smiling at him. He makes sound effects as he pilots his airplanes. Near doesn't have to be sad anymore. He spends his days playing, and at night everyone goes down to L's room to talk and have dinner.

On the top of Near's bookcase, where he can't reach, lies a mask.

At six thirty, the children of the house go to L's room. There is chocolate and jam and sweets, tea and sandwiches and other desserts. They sit together and they speak. B still hasn't forgotten L but he holds civil conversation.

A sits in B's lap, his arms are around her stomach. He presses kisses to her neck through her shirt at intervals. He's lost her once, he's not going to do it again.

Mello sits as close to Matt as he can and Matt puts an arm around his shoulder. They've been through so much, they won't be separated again.

Near sits semi close to L, he brings a stuffed bear with him, L has a rabbit. They sit and play together while sharing food.

Wammy sits off to the side in a chair, watching his children with a tired smile. He is glad that they are back together.

* * *

In the Shinigami Realm, Light Yagami opens his eyes. They are red.

Red like fiery hair. Red like flames that engulfed the church. Red like the emergency lights at HQ. Red like the blood that poured from his body when he was shot.

A dark figure is perched a few feet away, a grotesque grin stretching its face.

"It's nice to see you again, Light."


End file.
